0812. Sinner

it’s not that I only feel okay on this mat no it’s that here it doesn’t matter if nothing else is okay everything could be splitting at the seams the whole thing coming down in splinters and here it would still hold me and I want the wind to come long and hard so it rattles the chimes so it knocks the hinges loose so it bellows in the sockets of my hips until they hum like struck bells until the vibration runs through me down to my toes until my toenails feel like they could lift right off and leave the pads bare and pink and trembling with that infant-spirit knowing exactly what it needs without asking without apology

and I am a historian of bad “good” behavior a fucking sinner and thank god for that because the sin was the crowbar the liberation the blast door blowing open so I could feel it all in its full voltage being that sinner wrote the suicide note that never needed to be written it was the fly on the wall for those ten seconds that actually ended my marriage despite the months of pretending otherwise and do you know why I write like this why it barrels like a steamroller because it demands you keep up you don’t get a second to think about anything else and I will demand your presence if you just look me back in my god damn sinning eyeball

and I don’t know how to not feel everything like a fucking wrench in my gut like the twist of a handle in the softest place and I’ve stopped trying to dull it because maybe that wrench is the truest thing about me maybe it’s the tuning fork maybe it’s the compass and here on this mat I can put it all down the wrench the wind the sainting and the sinning I can let the body be the infant the wind be the parent the chimes be the reminder that I am still here unbroken pulsing willing to open my mouth and drink the air whole.